Same skin

I stand in the mirror but I don’t move close

Like I already know what I’ll see the most

Something off in the way that I hold my frame

Like I’m wearing a body that forgot my name

My hands hesitate when they touch my skin

Like they’re asking permission to settle back in

And I hate that it feels like I’m out of place

In the only thing I can’t ever replace

Nothing looks different, that’s what hurts the most

No visible proof, just a silent ghost

Sitting heavy in spaces nobody sees

While the world keeps turning like I’m still me

And I’m trying—God, I’m trying—to feel the same

But the echo don’t land when I say my name

I don’t feel like me in my own skin

Like something got taken but stayed within

And I scream in silence, it don’t come out

Just a low, heavy pulse full of buried doubt

You don’t get to live in the shape I’m in

You don’t get to stay underneath my skin

Even if I’m shaking, even if I’m torn

I was mine before—and I’m still reborn

They talk to me like I’m unchanged

Like I didn’t walk through something strange

Like I didn’t come back split in two

One part surviving, one part untrue

I scrub at my arms till they sting and burn

Like I’m trying to force something to return

But it’s deeper than water, it won’t wash out

It’s a quiet, constant, gnawing doubt

And I’m angry—yeah, more than I can explain

At the way it lingers without a name

At the fact I’m the one who has to rebuild

What I never broke, what I never killed

And I’m trying—God, I’m trying—to take it back

From the weight of a moment I can’t unpack

I don’t feel like me in my own skin

Like something got taken but stayed within

And I scream in silence, it don’t come out

Just a low, heavy pulse full of buried doubt

You don’t get to live in the shape I’m in

You don’t get to stay underneath my skin

Even if I’m shaking, even if I’m torn

I was mine before—and I’m still reborn

Low in my chest, it pounds, it stays

A rhythm I feel but I never gave

It shakes through my bones, through every vein

But it’s my heartbeat calling my name

You don’t get that.

You don’t keep that.

You don’t own anything I am.

I look away fast when I catch my face

Like I’m scared of the truth in that empty space

But I’m tired of running from what I see

Like I’m the one who’s the enemy

I want one night where I feel at home

In the curve of my spine, in the weight of my bones

Where I don’t second guess every breath I take

Or feel like my body’s a quiet mistake

But something inside me starts to rise

Not soft, not gentle—more like defiance

Like why should I shrink? why should I leave?

When this is the life that belongs to me

I don’t feel like me in my own skin

But I’m done letting that voice win

Yeah I scream—even if there’s no sound

Feel the bass of my heart shaking the ground

You don’t get to live in the shape I’m in

You don’t get to stay underneath my skin

Even if I’m broken,